


Graveyard

by chocochurros



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12698397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocochurros/pseuds/chocochurros
Summary: Nihilism, whoo.





	Graveyard

Smothered by the calming, reflective, and sedate pace of Time,  
Captured here in poetry, in prose except in rhyme.  
Time, in its relaxed, divine journey to blanket all with its veil.  
Inexorable, inevitable, inescapable, it gets e’rything without fail.  
It marches on as slow as it likes, knowing who’ll win out in the end.  
Remaining far beyond our puny lives, it’s cruelly neither enemy nor friend.  
It swings its arms and whistles as it idly inspects its scythe,  
Ignoring you for now but prepared to make you writhe.  
Fog envelops universally, mystic and faraway -   
Reminding of mist from storybooks and fairytales and other days.  
Days come and gone and yet to come, unseeable by our eyes  
But already known by Time, that omniscient rascal, how it flies.  
Who takes its wond’rous powers for granted, but with discipline and evenness.  
It intrigues and delights us, like a deadly game of chess.  
Soon, however far that Soon may seem, it will have trapped us all here, too -   
Ensnared as a fly in a spider’s gossamer web, it is going after you.  
Ordained by Nature in its quest, its purpose, all it’s for,  
Strange and unique and wonderful in how its after is before.  
In how it finds simplicity in complexity, and the other way around.  
For in the same breath, both things are true; the circle does come round.  
So much simpler and so much more complex than our feeble minds wish to admit,  
Time already knows this all, and yet carries on with it.  
Time already knows each and every single predestined move,  
And it knows what will be on our gravestones once our intentions have been proved.  
Once our times have passed, soon enough, we’ll be here, lying side by side -   
Black, white, Republican, Democrat, homophobes and those with active pride.  
Virtuous activist next to couch potato, villain next to angel -   
Whatever happens after death, souls in Heaven or in Hell.  
It won’t matter what we did, all temporary, fleeting,  
On a tiny ball of rock ten thousand thousand thousand miles from anything of meaning.  
If any such thing even is, isolated, adrift in a sea of nothing,  
Both swallowed up and untouched by all our honesty and bluffing.  
Soon, the Earth will open and envelop us, one by one -   
Some outlasting, some not quite, but soon everyone’s time is done.  
Swallowed, our lively, rosy cheeks, our designer jeans and pricey glasses;  
Our rags and tears, our squinting eyes; our hair, whether primped and preened or left to tatters;  
Our eyes, whether sprightly and quick, still, or left for withered, old, and grey;  
Our hopes and dreams, ambitions, things unfinished, left to say.  
Our love, our tears, our sweat and blood, or lack thereof, who knows;  
What might have been, what should’ve, in those futile paths we chose.  
Left behind in a dumb little coffin, mundanely carved from a living thing  
To carry the dead and long departed of another to memory’s brink.  
Stuck in a useless hole in the ground for the next generation to stare at,  
Useless lumps of bone and tears, soon torn apart by rats.  
And whether people weep there, when they see your name in grey,  
Or whether they move on, without a single thing to say -   
Whether loving, remembering hands caress the marble like a lover,  
Or ignore it, passing by, indifferent in the face of yet another;  
If someone stops before your grave and whispers, “Who were you?”  
Because they don’t know, you’ve slipped into the shadows, death anew,  
Lying in the middle of a sea of faceless names,  
Whatever you were is gone now, your corpse will never be the same.  
Your children’s children’s children may sit and ponder for a while,  
But they’ll never meet you, never know your embrace or your smile.  
All things pass and all things fade, they drift into the mist.  
It’s almost relaxing in a tumultuous life to think about if you’ll be missed.  
The eye of a hurricane of swirling, pounding emotion, with no clarity,  
It’s nice to sit for a while and slip into a moment of reverie.  
A spot of calm tranquility, where your mind can go float free -   
Of thinking, after all’s said and done, “where will my body be?”  
Who knows what happens once we’re gone - What will the masses think?  
They’ll view us like we’ve our ancestors, here and gone in a single blink.  
Everything you’ve said and done and fought for, loved, and cried about  
Contained here in a little dash, between the dates of your in and out.  
Thinking in a big-picture way, while saddening at times,  
Can make you feel worlds better about the things you leave behind.  
Once you’ve faded to obscurity, like the countless “Who knows?” here,  
You finally get to rest, no pressure; you can disappear.  
Your corpse at rest, for years of want, it at last will move no more.  
No bed to get up out of when you’re sleeping evermore.  
And while you take your time down there, right beyond your grave  
You hear the feet of children as they innocently wave.  
They never met you, they don’t know what you were to their parents  
Their eyes are wide and wondering as they learn of what you meant.  
Maybe they wonder, “What were they like? What did they care about?”  
But after generations of your story, no one will know enough to further spout.  
“Um”s and “I think”s and “I don’t really know”s will be littered among the blurred, smudged lore  
But what knows or cares your headstone of the retelling of some bones resting evermore?  
Flowers placed in memory will soon wither away to black,  
Disintegrate and blow away to nothing from their stacks.  
Your monument means nothing, just a marker of birth and death.  
Another space to fill upon this place of now-stilled breath.  
The lively, animated burst that drove you through your days  
Is gone, simply stripped away, dispersed throughout the haze.  
Past tense is soon your normal, as are strangers weeping somewhere nearby;  
They’ll soon be gone as well, why is there need to cry?  
When you strolled along these morbid aisles, beautiful in their silent song,  
You looked at dates and family names, but never lingered long.  
When you looked at buried families, to you the dates are only numbers.  
But to those sisters, and mothers, and wives, they're numb and painful brief forevers.  
When you used to walk by this very spot, you never stopped here once.  
But now you’re stuck indefinitely, with those who waited for you to join their judging hunt.  
Just another addition, one more deathly face among the crew.  
Another one who ignored them, only this time the snatched one's you.  
Into the mist, you fin’lly go, awaiting that enlightened state.  
The lifeless stone that’s now your memory will watch the new days, drab and great.  
Important to some other soul, as much as the old ones were once to you,  
But those days now are gone, replaced, and anyone who might’ve cared what you would do.  
Whatever golden glory you saw, the divinity in the colored streak in some cloud -  
Or the elegance of rainfall, dew upon a stranger’s headstone proud.  
Now it’s gone, whatever you saw, for your eyes and heart have left.  
Replaced by another’s brighter opportunity, that will soon, too, be Time’s quick theft.  
That which you enjoyed then meant so much at the time,  
But now it’s only left for another’s prose and rhyme.  
That doesn't mean it didn’t matter, but now those feelings flee.  
They're left with the loved ones buried with you, those left in your memory.  
No eyes to see, no heart to love, but the beauty will shine yet;  
A dull and pretty uniform headstone can’t care about a sunset.


End file.
